


Well Met by Moonlight

by StormLantern



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Mother Panic (Comics), Stormwatch (Comics)
Genre: Attempt at Action, Gen, Kidnapping, batfamily are in there somewhere, broad strokes canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormLantern/pseuds/StormLantern
Summary: Mother Panic meets a tall dark stranger following up a suspected lead of someone responsible for the Gather House.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Well Met by Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first fic so please be generous with constructed criticism!
> 
> Canon-wise: eh, a little loose. Mother Panic hasn't been air-dropped into the future yet and DC have done so little with Midnighter since the end of the New 52 that it's all pretty broad strokes as far as I'm concerned. Nothing that I'm aware of breaks canon.

One of Gotham’s problems was that it was mostly built on older parts of Gotham. What it lacked in size, it made up for in its almost chaotic sprawl. From the economic heart of Old Gotham with its ancient docks and high rise buildings and from so-called New Gotham with its universi the city felt larger than the islands that kept it contained (if you ignored the perpetually ‘up and coming’ Burnside and the sprawling conurbation that crept towards Blüdhaven beyond and the elegant, old-money playpen of Bristol where people lived when they could afford other people to drive for them). 

Buoys blinked above the water of the Gotham river, dancing among the lights of the reflected city. The warm glow of Arkham Asylum gave the river’s surface a golden haze, mingling transiently with the silver haze of moonlight on water. 

Violet Paige lowered her glider to get a better look at the warehouse on Dixon Docks. There was _something_ going on, but she could not make out what. A large truck had pulled right up to a loading bay and she could see several men trying to look like they were not standing guard. She had originally thought that it was one man coming in and out again in quick succession, but then two came out and stayed and she noticed that they were all very similar in build. Robots seemed a bit unlikely but clones would have been a novelty. 

This was, she had to admit, not particularly remarkable in and of itself, but this warehouse’s previous owner was the listed manager of a shell company of a shell company that was listed under the false name of a former trustee of Gather House, which made anyone or anything going in or out automatically remarkable, even if they did turn out just to be quintuplets with a similar powerlifting routine.

She started up the glider and moved closer, leaving it idling on the roof of the warehouse. Violet - no, she was in her mask and standing on a warehouse roof - Mother Panic climbed down a gutter to the rusted metal frame of what once might have been called a fire escape and looked through the window. A lot of beams and a lot of darkness, although the swirling of dust against a cold white light. It cast long shadows across the warehouse walls that occasionally flickered into darkness as someone walked past. She shifted her weight and tried to lean in to get a better look. The light sources were low and she estimated that there were four of them at most, set up to illuminate a central point rather than the room generally.She noticed how much colder it was without the gentle heat the glider provided. 

To make things worse, the cold was causing condensation to form on the visor of her mask. She tried to listen, but the city was still awake enough that it would have been impossible. She needed to get closer. She started looking for a way in. 

The chain on the fire exit door was surprisingly secure and looked like it had been put in place recently. The door had been sealed from the outside, so it was very clear that whoever had secured it was worried about whatever was inside getting out. This was notable. 

The windows were barred. Also notable. A brief survey of the freezing roof of the ware house showed similar attention to detail had been paid to all the windows she could find and each of the air vents had a very thick metal grille welded in place. Some gentle teasing had confirmed that she would not be able to remove any of them without a considerable amount of noise. When had these been put in?

 _I’m getting sloppy_ , she thought to herself, before conceding that that was a little unfair. 

_I’m getting tired_.

The most sleep she had been getting recently was in an opiate haze after Doctor Varma had finished patching her up. 

Maybe this was the reason Batman had his army of boys in short shorts: it shared the burden of endless reconnaissance. She felt a tiny pang of guilt as she almost considered the thought of asking Ratcatcher to pitch in with the research - the endless checking, rechecking and comparing of documents, the rabbit warrens of paper trails, the false starts and the bitter pang of despair that comes from discovering that two months of work leads to a dead end. 

_He does his best._

Sometimes, it would almost be easier if she had someone who could point a spotlight light at the sky and tell her who to punch. 

Instead, she had a reformed rogue squatting in the basement who did the crossword with her mother every morning and occasionally sent rats to eat people’s faces. 

_Maybe I should go corporate_ , she mused. _Outsourcing the boring parts and then taking all the fame and glory._

The swooping in and inciting violence part she could handle alone, usually, but the rest of the legwork was arduous and, currently, freezing. At least the sky was clear. No chance of rain. 

_How many robins does he have on staff at the moment? Three? One of them looks very fucking young to be running at men with guns._

She moved to the edge of the warehouse and dropped silently onto the roof of the truck, steadying herself as her foot almost slid away on the frost that already developed. 

_I bet Batman would send one of his child soldiers to deal with something like this_ , she carried on. _The Justice League should have social workers on staff for when the kids either go insane or start asking questions._

She cautiously lowered herself down to try and peek through the crack between the top of the truck and the metal shutters.

 _Like I did._

She saw three men - almost identical bodies, different faces and ethnicities - just inside. One was facing away from her, speaking into a radio. The other two carried M16s with their fingers _not_ on the triggers, which implied some level of training. This was problematic but not insurmountable. They were pacing slightly in the cold and as they moved their long shadows danced along the shining blades on the tables and along the walls. Positioning and timing would be key. The two men outside did not seem to have heard her drop. She had to assume they were armed. 

Further inside, she could see tables set up with what looked like medical equipment. Most of the stuff she recognised, no stranger to unconventional surgical techniques, but there was equipment she could make little sense of; some of it looked like costume jewelry with gaudy red, orange and green crystals arranged carefully in trays. 

Towards the back of the room, in the half-light and hidden by elongated shadows, she saw larger pieces of equipment that reminded her of the nonspecific scientific devices from the background of sci-fi shows, with boxy tech that flashed lights and beeped atmospherically. 

There were also three unconscious teenagers strapped to metal tables, with IVs feeding a fluid solution into their arms. 

_Those fuckers,_ she almost said aloud. _They’re still doing it_. 

The man with the radio stopped talking and walked over to one of the machines and started pressing buttons and turning dials in a methodical manner. 

_I can handle this by myself,_ she asserted to herself. _But now would be a really good time for one of team Batman to turn up._

Mother Panic braced herself. 

Every light in the city went out. She heard someone move on the truck roof behind her. 

A firm hand grabbed her ankle. She tried to flip over and kick _hard_ at… someone who had already pulled back. In the darkness, she could make out a tall man in black armour with a mask covering the top half of his face. 

He was holding a finger up to his lips, the universal sign that she should _shh_. 

She held up a different finger. 

He lay down beside her and peered into the warehouse. 

“What have we got?” he asked. 

“Two outside, three inside. Three kids strapped on down and a lot of surgical equipment”. 

“Reminds me of my twenties,” he said quietly. 

Violet wondered how hard she could punch him in the face without alerting the guards. Maybe she could punch him after they’d rescued the teenagers. 

“Only I was on the table,” he continued. “And don’t fight me, I’ll win.”

Mother Panic paused for a moment. That would explain why he dressed up and punched people. She could hardly judge Batman for that. 

“You were at Gather House?” she hissed. 

“What’s a Gather House?” he replied. “We don’t have much time. A powercut is rarely quiet. Security systems usually wake up and switch on to battery to raise the alarm. Do you head any alarms?”

It was very quiet. 

“Every street light in Gotham has a miniature solar panel and a battery that keeps it going for up to three hours at a full charge,” he whispered. 

The lights were dark. 

“They’re all the same height,” said Mother Panic, hoping to add something useful. 

“Have you seen them talking?”

“The one on the radio has been talking the whole time, right up until the lights went out.”

“Have you seen them talking to each other?” he clarified. 

Violet paused and thought back. She said she had not. 

“That’s unfortunate,” he said. “They’re linked by implant. Treat them as one person split between five bodies. We’ll need to take them all out more or less at once.” 

“Do you have any spare Robins shoved up your sleeve?”

“What? No!” he hissed back. “Aren’t you part of Team Batman?”

One by one alarm systems started coming back to life. She could see lights on Arkham Island. 

“Who are - we need to move now,” she said. “I’ll take out the two outside. How are you with heavy gunfire?”.

In the pale light of the moon, she saw his teeth shine white. He was smiling. 

***

Apollo was running a bath. Apollo liked baths. Apollo liked heat, generally, which was somewhat convenient given that he was solar-powered. The insane bastards - and they _were_ insane and they _were_ bastards - that kidnapped him as a child and experimented on him for a decade and a half of semi-conscious, painful derium had had the foresight to disconnect his ability to register heat as pain. It just felt, well, warm. 

He had flown to the outer edges of the sun and just found it to be, well, really nice. He used it to heal and recuperate after a particularly tough fight. It was a bit boring after a while, and he couldn’t exactly bring a book, but it was nice. And warm. 

He looked at the bath-bombs in the cupboard. It was Midnighter who had introduced him to bath bombs. Apollo suspected he just liked the word “bomb” and the fact that they smelled like sandalwood was largely incidental. 

Something beep-beeped in his head, and a familiar voice came through to him. 

“Status report,” the voice demanded. She sounded oddly flat when she beamed straight into his head. 

“I’m… running a bath”. 

“What do you mean you’re runn - never mind,” the Engineer said. “I did ask Midnighter, not you”. 

“You did.”

“I just expected you to tag along with him.”

“Sorry, what?” he asked. It was hard to emote properly over implanted communication tech. Volume was levelled and tone of voice often failed to come across. On top of that, Apollo was technically piggy-backing onto the system and the Engineer sort of _was_ the system so neither of them were exactly using standard communication channels. 

“You know what I mean,” returned the voice in his head. 

“No, I don’t, please tell me,” he sent back, hoping his disapproval would be evident from the context. 

The truth was, he did know. Midnighter was well-connected and could blend in with heroes and villains alike. He was friends - _friends_ \- with Nightwing, which lent him a lot of respectability in the superhero world. _What can I say? They all love Dick,_ Midnighter took delight in telling people, endlessly in love with the cheap pun. 

Apollo was six-foot six and glowed in the dark. 

He was not exactly equipped for deep-cover espionage. 

“You two just work so well as a team,” the Engineer said in a hurried voice. “I didn’t think to ask you to go with him.” 

“Well, I didn’t go with him”, he said. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll be clearer next time. You enjoy your bath.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry, Apollo.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” 

“I feel like a bit of a bitch.”

“I’m running a bath, Engineer,” he said. “If Midnighter needs help, he’ll call for help. Apollo out.” 

***

“Gotham rules are still in place,” he said. “No fatalities. I don’t want angry letters from Batman.” 

In the low glow of the city as it came back to life, she could make out his silhouette - the lack of pointy ears were less of a surprise than she thought they would be. 

“Who are you?” she said in a low growl. 

“I’ll fill you in once these five fellas are unconscious,” he said. “Five seconds. We both attack on the zero. Five”

And then he was gone. 

_Four_

Mother Panic got to her feet. The frost on the top of the truck was too slippery for a running jump. 

_Three_

The nearest one had was facing north-northwest and the other was about two metres away facing west-southwest. She could hit the nearer one without being seen. 

_Two_

The element of surprise would be preferable under normal circumstances, but if what he said was correct about the implants it would be pointless.

_One_

The streetlights around the docks were working again - the guards both turned their heads to look at the golden glow.

_Zero_

The first guard dropped as his left knee was knocked out from under him. Instantly, she heard gunfire from inside the warehouse. Two steps and her fist connected with the neck of the second guard, with a follow up between the eyes. Another burst of gunfire, which was cut short. Mother Panic twisted into a leap, the momentum of which transformed into a heavy kick to the first guard as he was trying to get to his feet. 

Neither of them tried standing back up.

Violet cautiously opened the warehouse door, just as the lights inside the warehouse flickered back online. 

The two M16s had been kicked across the floor. The three men lay on the ground, bloodied but breathing. 

“Someone will have reported the gunfire,” she said. Rough though Gotham was, people did have faith in the uniformed services, at least since Gordon’s reforms. 

“Bring in those two from outside,” the Midnighter replied. “They’ll attract ascension we don’t need.”

“Jack,” she heard him say as she ran out to grab the two men “I need you to run interference for the GCPD.”

A few moments later, all five unconscious, bloodied men had been secured inside the truck. 

“They’re heavier than they should be,” she said, suddenly aware of how cold she was again. 

“I know. What’s Gather House?”

Violet turned to him and looked him up and down critically. His armoured suit was impressive, although the little moon symbol on his chest struck her as a little kitschy. He was inspecting the equipment along on the tables, quickly but carefully. 

“A boarding school for wayward boys and naughty girls who were experimented on by psychopaths,” was her honest reply. “I burned it down and killed most of the people responsible.”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, nodding but not looking round. “Sounds like a few people I know.”

“My turn,” she said. “Who are you and why are you here?”

“Midnighter,” said Midnighter. “I’m with an organisation that you haven’t heard of called Stormwatch. We prevent alien invasions and we are very good at it. I need to get this crap back to the Carrier to be analysed.”

Having no real way to respond to this, Violent looked at the girl strapped to the surgical table in front of her. She looked no older than fourteen. 

_Is this what I looked like?_ she thought. 

“Leave them,” Midnighter said. “The police will look after them.” 

“We can’t just -”

“I count four types of kryptonite, at least two metals with no known means of production on Earth, three sets of artificial organs and an active teleport beacon that we absolutely do not want ending up in Gotham PD’s evidence locker.”

As he said this, he picked up a small black device that was slowly pulsing light off and on. 

“I know it's horrible but they have been sedated, not operated on.” 

“You don’t understand, they -” 

“How much weight can your hover bike stand?” he interrupted. 

They both paused. There were sirens in the distance, getting nearer. 

“Fuck it,” he said to himself, then under his breath said “Jack, Jenny, I’m gonna need a hand tampering with a crime scene.”

_“DOOR”_


End file.
